


Old Marrieds

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends help you move; real friends help you move bodies. Hank starts to get suspicious when he finds out who’s helping Nick move in to his new place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Marrieds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthienberen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/gifts).



> Originally written for the [Grimm Exchange](http://grimm-exchange.dreamwidth.org/profile) (2011 round), so no spoilers past episode 7 of season 1. Hell, there are no spoilers at all as long as you're passingly familiar with the series.

It’d been a _long_ time since Nick had looked at the depressing sight of his entire life packed up in boxes. There were surprisingly few boxes piling up in his dinky new apartment; Nick had spent the last few years building a life together with Juliette. They’d bought a house, they’d made plans, and when all of it fell apart, there was amazingly little that Nick wanted to take with him. It was damn depressing to know that an adult man with a career could fit his entire life in the back of a truck.  
  
“One more load,” Monroe announced from the door, hauling a stack of old milk crates in and putting them down with a grunt. Nick made a noise of acknowledgement, completely missing the exasperated look the Blutbad shot him. Still, Monroe _said_ nothing about Nick’s behavior, just turned around and went to get the last load of boxes. Nick turned, mouth open to say… _something_ , but Monroe was already gone.  
  
“Dammit,” Nick muttered to himself, running a hand over his face. He hadn’t let himself fall apart, but Nick knew that he _was_ wallowing, and that it was starting to test the patience of everyone around him. Renard had gone so far as to suggest Nick take a little time off, but Nick hadn’t wanted to. Work was the only _normal_ thing he’d had left, and Nick clung to that.  
  
Work… and Monroe. The Blutbad was the only one who knew the whole story behind Nick and Juliette’s break up and all the reasons _why_. Monroe had listened with a sympathetic ear and had -- blessedly -- offered _no_ advice on how to deal; just an ear, some beer, and a couch to crash on while Nick and Juliette had worked out what they were going to do about the house.  
  
Nick turned his attentions to the boxes, intent on getting them unpacked and himself settled as quickly as possible, when someone knocked on the door frame. “Hey, Nick.”  
  
“Hank, come on in.” Nick called opening up a box of kitchen stuff, mostly pots and pans. He didn’t look up until Hank had crossed the room, heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak beneath Nick’s partner. Hank dangled a six pack of beer in front of Nick’s face.  
  
“Sorry I missed moving day,” Hank apologized, not for the first time. Nick had managed to make a few jokes at Hank’s expense about his friend not being able to help Nick move in, not that there’d been much to move anyway.  
  
“The housewarming gift more than makes up for it,” Nick admitted, liberating a can and cracking it open. Hank grinned, and Nick smiled, and neither of them said much of anything. They’d known each other long enough that they didn’t need to talk at each other to know what was going on.  
  
“That’s the last of -- ah.”  
  
The beer was halfway to Nick’s lips when Monroe returned. He watched Hank turn, head cocking slightly to one side as his eyebrows made a steady climb for his hairline. Monroe put the final stack of boxes down by the door, watching Hank warily. Nick, for his part, hoped to God that Hank _didn’t_ remember that they’d once tried to bring Monroe in on murder and kidnapping charges. Finally, Nick had enough of the awkward silence. “Hank brought beer to make up for not helping me move my crap,” Nick said brightly, taking another can from the six pack and tossing it to Monroe. The other man caught it with no effort, grinning slowly.  
  
“Makes up for not doing any of the heavy lifting,” Monroe conceded. “Hi.”  
  
Hank finally laid claim to one of the silvery cans, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Monroe, right? The clock guy?”  
  
“Guilty as charged,” Monroe smirked, practically daring Hank to say anything more. Internally. Nick winced. He worked so damn hard to keep his lives separate, _especially_ after his disastrous attempt to explain things to Juliette, and now there was Monroe and Hank in the same room. The unfortunate mistaken arrest was awkward enough. He didn’t even want to think about Hank finding out the whole truth.  
  
And Nick knew, if Hank decided to poke in to thing, that he’d figure things out.  
  
“Pizza’s on me, too,” Hank offered.  
  
Nick caught a flash of a grin from Monroe, and felt something unclench inside his belly. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the end of everything after all. Maybe Nick was just being paranoid.  
  
***  
  
“You know you don’t gotta lie to me about stuff, right Nick?” Hank asked as Nick started the car. “You’re not just my partner, you’re _friend_.”  
  
Nick blinked slowly, turning Hank’s words over in his head, trying to worked out what, exactly, his friend was talking about.  
  
“I get it, you know,” Hank went on quickly. “It doesn’t matter. And Monroe doesn’t seem like a _bad_ guy-”  
  
Nick turned in his head, taking his hands off the steering wheel as his jaw dropped. “ _What?”_  
  
“Nick, _relax_ , it’s okay,” Hank said, using the same tone on Nick that Nick had heard him use on small children and frightened witnesses. “I don’t care if you’re with the lumberjack clock guy-”  
  
“I’m not _with_ anyone!” Nick insisted quickly, his stomach knotting up into a tight little ball. “Oh _God_ , you think me and Monroe-?” Nick shook his head quickly, watching Hank’s face go from surprise and confusion to a slowly growing smirk. Nick _knew_ that smirk; he’d been on the receiving end of it more than once, usually right after Hank had interrupted Nick and Juliette or caught the pair of them being what he deemed “adorable”. “Stop looking at me like that!”  
  
“I mean it, Nick. Long as you’re not brooding, long as you’re happy, it’s all good,” Hank told Nick honestly. “You didn’t have to keep any of this a secret, man.”  
  
Nick inhaled sharply, about to let out another denial; instead he found himself saying, “Hank, you’re my best friend, but my life is _really_ complicated right now, and I… I can‘t really explain what‘s going on in my life right now.”  
  
Hank sighed softly, and he nodded. “Alright. Just remember, you ever got anything you wanna say to me, you can say it.”  
  
***  
  
Monroe was crouched in front of Nick’s fridge, shoving things this way and that with a small frown on his face while Nick watched him. Truthfully, Nick was beginning to understand why Monroe used to get so pissy about him showing up whenever he needed something; since Nick had moved in to his new apartment, Monroe had taken to dropping in at the oddest hours, sometimes for no other reason than to drop off something to eat and complain. Nick was actually starting to suspect that it was Monroe’s way of getting back at him.  
  
“Where’s the Blue Stilton?” Monroe asked, coming up with a couple of pears.  
  
“Is that the stinky, moldy cheese you left here last time?” Nick replied with a rather bad attempt at innocence. Monroe peered at Nick over the top of the fridge door, radiating disapproval as Nick grinned at him.  
  
“It’s _Blue Stilton_ ,” Monroe growled, straightening up. “It’s supposed to smell like that. You know what your problem is, Nick? You have _zero_ appreciation for anything outside what you consider ‘normal’.”  
  
“You’ll be calling me a cultureless barbarian next,” Nick couldn’t help but tease.  
  
“You _are_.” Monroe straightened up to his full height, nostrils flaring. “I can still smell it, so at least you didn’t throw it out…” He started hunting around the tiny kitchen, muttering uncomplimentary things about Nick and his ancestors under his breath.  
  
“Why would you leave it _here_ , anyway?” Nick asked, leaning against the cheap plastic counter as he turned the conversation over in his head, trying to pinpoint just what it was that seemed so damn familiar to him about it. It finally hit him, about the time Monroe found his stupid, smelly cheese (hidden behind the garlic cloves Monroe had _also_ left there): he’d _had_ these kinds of conversations before, with Juliette and all the ones who had come before her.  
  
When pressed, Nick was willing to admit that he had a type; smart, cultured, and able to give as good as they got in a verbal sparring match. Which, Nick was willing to admit, Monroe fit.  
  
“Hank thinks we’re dating.” Nick watched Monroe and how he reacted to that bit of information. He couldn’t see the Blutbad’s face from where he was, but a person’s body language could give away so much.  
  
Monroe’s shoulders tensed, and he chopped into the pears a bit harder than he really needed to. “Yeah, we got all the dating crap going on,” Monroe agreed with forced lightness. “Except for the sex.” Nick watched Monroe raise his head, then turn around with an almost horrified expression on his face. “Which means we’re not dating, we’re _married_.”  
  
The laugh bubbled up in Nick’s chest, coming out hard enough to force him to double over.  
  
“Don’t laugh! I’m a catch!” Monroe protested; Nick couldn’t tell if he was being entirely serious or not, but it continued to tickle at Nick’s sense of humor. “Lots of people would _love_ to be married to me. I’ve got my own business, I own my own home, I’m educated-”  
  
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” Nick added helpfully, watching Monroe throw his shoulders back and _preen_.  
  
“Damn right. You‘re lucky to have me,” Monroe sniffed, popping a pear slice into his mouth. Nick’s laughter wound down, and Monroe blinked slowly, as if just realizing he’d said. He studied Nick thoughtfully for a moment, jaw working slowly. “Huh.”  
  
Nick looked away first, feeling like he’d taken a huge leap in to something dangerous, and now it was way too late to turn back. Monroe shuffled over to the sink, washing off the knife and putting it in the drying rack. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”  
  
Monroe took his stinky cheese with him.  
  
***  
  
“Nick, company.”  
  
Nick looked up from the report to hank, then turned his head to follow his partner’s gaze. The first thing he saw was Sgt. Wu grinning at him. The _second_ thing he saw was Monroe looming over Wu, looking like there were a million other places he wanted to be just then. Yet there he was, after three days of being nowhere to be found.  
  
Nick wouldn’t have called them the _worse_ three days of his life; the day he lost his parents, the day he’d found out Aunt Marie was sick, and the day Marie actually died safely occupied those spots, but the last few days had been pretty damn miserable.  
  
Nick stood up, putting the file down on his desk.  
  
“Taking a lunch?” Hank asked with a slowly growing grin.  
  
“Cover for me?” Nick was already half way to Monroe, looking over his shoulder at Hank, who continued to grin as he waved Nick on. Wu, thankfully, didn’t say a word as Nick ushered Monroe outside, but Nick knew that as soon as they were out of earshot, Wu and Hank would start gossiping like a pair of old grandmothers.  
  
“We need to talk,” Monroe murmured, his hand rising to the back of Nick’s neck.  
  
“Yeah,” Nick agreed, feeling the knot in his stomach finally loosen for the first time in three days.


End file.
